


Coffee Break

by wiski



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Biting, Established Relationship, Hair-pulling, I Don't Even Know, Kissing, M/M, Pack, Plotless, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:53:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wiski/pseuds/wiski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Stiles calls for a coffee break, but his quiet time is rudely interrupted (to the surprise of absolutely no one at all).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Break

**Author's Note:**

> Set some time in the nebulous future, possibly slightly AUish, where everything is (mostly) calm and everyone is together in one big happy pack, because sappy sappiness is how I roll.
> 
> Much thanks to the amazing [emptyword](http://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyword/pseuds/emptyword) for looking this over. I slaved over the ending for _days_ before she came along and worked her magic. You have the patience of a saint, bb. I have no idea what I'd do without you.

Stiles glances up at the sound of the kitchen door creaking open, eyes alert, then relaxes and smoothly returns his attention to the carafe in his hand. The beginning of an absent smile curls one corner of his mouth as he goes back to pouring his coffee.

“Hey, Derek. Did you want something?” He asks quietly without looking away from the steadily rising surface of the dark brown liquid in his bright orange mug. Steam rises and curls around him, filling the kitchen and probably the entirety of Derek's new apartment (found just over a month ago after weeks of house-hunting with Stiles and the rest of the pack—Derek seems to have finally ran out of random decrepit places to lurk in) with the heady scent of freshly brewed coffee.

Stiles hears Derek breathe in deeply once before he hums, voice low and rumbling. “No. Yes. Maybe.”

Stiles is full on grinning now. He makes no move to get out of the way as he feels rather than sees Derek close in, predator on the prowl, slowly but surely invading his personal space.

“Want some of my special brew? I'm nice, so I'll share.” His own voice is lower than it was half a minute ago, teasing and intimate.

“Hmm. Sure.” Placing one hand on the edge of the countertop, Derek settles in right behind Stiles, a heated presence all along his back, almost touching but not quite.

Stiles can feel the even gusts of Derek's exhales, warm on the back of his neck, a little off to the right. He shivers slightly and then shakes himself, tilts his head a fraction of an inch to the left and mumbles without turning his head, “’Kay. Wanna stop your skulking for a sec and grab your mug for me, Mr. Creeperwolf?”

"Why don't you share your mug with me too, since you’re so nice?" Derek murmurs right into his ear, setting off delicious sparks and tingles under the skin behind his right ear, along the back of his neck, all the way down the curve of his spine.

Stiles can’t suppress the full body shudder this time, complete with goosebumps all along his arms. He takes a deep breath.

"I drink my coffee with sugar; you don't," Stiles says reasonably, voice almost completely steady.

"You haven't added sugar to yours yet," Derek points out while nuzzling behind his ear, the cool tip of his nose tracing lightly up and down along the outer shell—and then he tenses suddenly as realization struck.

It’s too late, though, werewolf reflexes notwithstanding. Derek’s hands make it to Stiles’s elbows, clamping them in a secure hold, stilling any major movements, but Stiles already has a handful of sugar cubes at the ready and does not hesitate to flick his wrist, tossing them into his cup, making an impressive splatter over the brand new countertop. One cube doesn’t make it into the cup, skittering across the shiny surface before falling off the far end onto the floor.

Stiles crows triumphantly. "Now I _have_ ," he announces, cackling. "Sugary coffee for the win!" He tilts his head back, resting it against Derek’s shoulder, then lolls his head around and looks at Derek from under half closed eyelids. Derek is nearly _pouting_. He grins and closes his eyes, getting comfortable on his muscly headrest.

Derek huffs in annoyance and momentarily tightens his hold on Stiles’s elbow before letting go to wrap both arms around his middle, successfully trapping Stiles against his body and looming over him.

They are now pressed flush together front to back. Stiles can feel the rise and fall of Derek’s chest, the heat from his body. The rhythm of his own breathing is gradually matching up with Derek’s, deep and even. He tilts his head to the side a bit more, and then he goes still, waits.

He feels a warm burst of air on his cheek and the hinge of his jaw moments before he feels the bite, playful and lightning quick, on the bared side of his neck. Derek holds the bite for a few long (not nearly long enough) seconds, growling mock-seriously, a rumble low at the back of his throat, and then shifts to nose at the bite mark before giving it a sloppy lick.

Stiles makes a vague noise of complaint at the discomfort of saliva cooling rapidly on his heated skin, but promptly shuts up when Derek pushes his hips forward, crowding Stiles against the counter, then gives another sharp little nip to the soft flesh at the base of his neck where it joins his shoulder.

Stiles leans into where Derek is mouthing lightly at the patch of skin just above the neckline of his T-shirt and reaches up to take hold of a handful of Derek’s soft, thick hair, silently asking for more, but all of a sudden, the hot mouth on his neck and the warm, solid wall of muscle at his back are gone, and his right hand is clutching at thin air. This causes a few seconds of disoriented stumbling and flailing. He snaps his eyes open and looks around in bewilderment.

“Looking for something?” Derek is leaning one hip against the counter with his arms crossed and a smirk on his stupidly attractive face, less than a foot away to his left. There’s a dark blue and black striped mug sitting innocently on the counter before him.

“My cup. Happy now, you kitchen tyrant? _My_ kitchen, by the way, in case you haven’t noticed yet.”

“You—oh my god, you _suck_.” Stiles slumps against the kitchen island and shoots Derek a halfhearted glare.

“You know I do.” Derek actually _leers_.

Stiles groans and punches his arm. “You’re not funny, just so you know.”

“Mhmm, sure.” Derek just keeps smirking, and yup, here comes his Eyebrow Raise of Doom, Subcategory: Smug.

“I’ll have you know I am _not_ a werewolf chew toy; and you are such a tease, oh my God. I ha—mmph!” and he abruptly finds his mouth covered by a rough palm.

Derek’s eyes briefly flash red for a moment as he shoves Stiles back against his kitchen island and presses close, both hands on the counter caging him in. He is very, very near now; their noses are brushing together with every slight movement of their bodies. “Shut. Up.” Derek grits out between his teeth, eyes boring into Stiles’s.

The handle on the cabinet door is digging into the back of Stiles’s left thigh rather painfully, but he barely feels it as he meets Derek’s gaze head on with a challenging look, the unspoken “ _make me_ ” unmistakable in his eyes and the twitch of his brow.

Derek’s gaze intensifies, and Stiles watches with endless fascination (it never gets old no matter how many times he’s seen it happen) as the iridescent pale color of Derek’s irises slowly bleeds into dark red, almost glowing in the shadow cast by the soft overhead lighting. His eyes are fully crimson once again when he removes the hand covering the lower half of Stiles’s face; he quickly moves in for the kill before Stiles can mouth off again.

Their kiss is brutal, to say the least, all careless teeth and insistent tongue, crudely but very effectively serving its purpose of shutting Stiles up. Stiles is content to just close his eyes and be kissed for a while, his mouth pliant under the attacks from Derek’s sharp (but human) teeth, allowing Derek to thoroughly lick around the inside of his mouth. He does no more than kiss back lazily, his own tongue responding sluggishly under Derek’s unrelenting probing, until Derek snakes one hand up, drags it purposefully over the waistband of his jeans, the dip of his waist, his ribs, the arch of his spine, his shoulder blades, his nape, to finally bury it in the hair at the back of Stiles’s head, and _pulls_.

The mixed sensation of pain and pleasure still comes as a shock to his system, despite the fact that this is emphatically _not_ the first time Derek grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled, with _just_ the right amount of force, the sneaky bastard. Stiles’s entire body is now thrumming with nervous tension, and his hands automatically come up to fist in the front of Derek’s shirt as a (rather pointless, what with him being jammed between Derek and his kitchen island) support for his suddenly weak knees. He accidentally bites down on Derek’s upper lip and hears Derek’s breath hitch slightly. Stiles grins at the unwitting show of weakness and, using the handfuls of Derek’s shirt to drag him in, starts kissing back in earnest.

He frees his left hand and puts it on Derek’s neck, fingers scritching at the baby hairs at the back of his nape while his thumb strokes tenderly along Derek’s stubbled jaw; his right hand is over Derek’s thumping heart, the slightly quicker than usual rhythm oddly reassuring. The raspy sound of stubble on skin, the scratchiness of Derek’s five o’clock shadow in the palm of his hand, bring back fragmented memories of other times, other places, of heat and closeness and frenzied movements, of whispered words and reverent touches. His heart constricts unexpectedly with a flood of emotions.

Stiles uses his thumb to push at the hinge of Derek’s jaw, changing the angle of their kiss slightly. Derek makes a small sound at the back of his throat and pulls harder on Stiles’s hair, moving his other hand to the small of his back, the tip of one finger slipping under the hem of his shirt to touch bare skin. Stiles sucks on Derek’s tongue in retaliation, does some exploring and teasing of his own, and bites down on Derek’s bottom lip before he pulls away slightly, ever so slightly. Their lips are still faintly touching. The tiny space between them is rapidly heating up with their combined breaths.

Stiles opens his eyes to find Derek watching him through his eyelashes with dark, half-lidded eyes. Derek’s hair is a bit mussed from what must have been Stiles’s wandering hand. His cheeks are a little flushed, his lips bitten red, his chest rising and falling gently. Stiles can’t resist leaning in once more to place a kiss on the corner of his lips, the tip of his nose, the point of his impossible cheekbones, his jaw, and back to his lips again.

“Coffee’s going to be cold now,” he says, finally backing off a little. His voice sounds strange in his ears, rough and faraway. The orange mug sitting forgotten on the counter is only slightly warm to the touch now.

“Make some more.” Derek is already leaning in again, claiming his mouth in a much more leisurely but no less heated kiss this time.

By the time they resurface, the cup of coffee is ice cold.

“You are cleaning that up,” Derek says with one last nip to Stiles’s bottom lip, gesturing to the mess of splattered coffee and stray flecks of sugar on the counter and the fallen sugar cube which has broken into several small chunks on the tiled floor.

Stiles merely hums and nuzzles his cheek.

*

When they finally reemerge in the living room, shirts and hair haphazardly returned to some semblance of order, with their respective mugs filled again with steaming coffee prepared according to each of their exact preferences (lots and lots of sugar for Stiles, a splash of milk for Derek), the members of their pack are all sprawled out languidly on the couch and the carpet, each doing their own thing. No one even looks up when they enter, as if their alpha and his favorite human Pack Strategist didn’t just come back from a passionate make out session.

…Except for Erica, apparently.

“ _Well_. These ‘coffee breaks’ just keep taking longer and longer, don’t they. I’d _love_ to be invited along next time, boys.”

Boyd gives her a pointed look, one eyebrow raised.

Erica shrugs with affected nonchalance. “Alright, I guess we can _all_ be invited. Dibs on the kitchen counter!”

“Ugh, _gross_.” Scott’s face is all scrunched up. He looks like he’s having a hard time deciding between covering his eyes or his ears. “For once I was actually _bored_ during their _thing_ —” he gags, “eww, now I need to bleach my brain again. Thanks so much, Erica. And this is all _your_ fault,” he turns to glare at Derek, “You suck as alpha, just so you know.”

Allison rubs his back soothingly. Scott is just starting to go a little lax when she adds with a mischievous smile, “we all know he does. Even _I_ heard him.”

Scott groans and buries his face in his hands while the rest of the pack cackles and sniggers.

“At least they just made out this time.” Isaac’s attempt to ease Scott’s distress fails miserably as Scott continues to look traumatized.

“ _Please_ stop reminding me.”

Lydia sniffs and crosses her arms. “Ugh, can we get back to the meeting now? _Some_ of us have better things to do than sit around while you idiots fuss and make out.”

Jackson rolls his eyes from where he is lounging on the loveseat and turns to bury his face in Lydia’s lap, going back to sleep.

Stiles just shrugs helplessly and presses his and Derek’s shoulders together, his mouth slanting up in a crooked smile. “Wow, the puppies are getting unruly, Mr. Alpha. We really need to remember to come up with some distraction tactics next time. Food, maybe? We should definitely stock up on kibble. And chew toys. _And_ we need a timer.”

Derek is stubbornly silent, sullen scowl persistent on his face, but you don’t even need to be Stiles to be able to tell that he is laughing inside. (“Ooh, _some_ body’s deigned to take their facial muscles out for a workout today.” “Is that a _smile_? Bra _vo_ , Derek.”)

His (not so) secret smile remains on his face until the end of the pack meeting.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I don't even know. This was supposed to be a practice drabble for writing kissing scenes, and all of a sudden it was like _this_. I swear it wasn't my fault. *shiftyeyes*
> 
> The thing is, I would really, really appreciate some feedback regarding the kissing scene. This is my first time writing kissing, plus it's not like I have any actual experience with kissing, so I'm just feeling my way out in the dark here. I'm really hoping this will help me do better in this longer fic I've been working on. (It's the sequel in my Syrup 'verse, where Stiles and Derek go on their first date, in case you are wondering.) Any comments or pointers will be much appreciated!
> 
> I'm on tumblr as [wiskix](http://wiskix.tumblr.com/) if you want to talk to me there!
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥


End file.
